The Downfall of Pride
by FifteenFathomsCounting
Summary: Tyrin Stonehelm got her name for a reason; her stubbornness. It stands to reason that she would ignore a direct order and run away to adventure with her kinsmen, battling orcs, slaying dragons and restoring the Lonely Mountain to it's former glory. Gandalf often said that Thorin Oakenshield's one downfall was his pride, but which will lead the Company to ruin?


**The Downfall of Pride**

_Far over the Misty Mountains cold,_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old,_

_We must away ere break of day,_

_To seek the pale enchanted gold._

Far Over the Misty Mountains – The Hobbit

It was pleasantly cool that evening, and Tyrin was in no hurry. She ambled along the lanes, admiring the view and taking in deep breaths of fragrant air, as she walked along past meadows and grass verges full with wildflowers. The breeze was alive with the scent of cowslips and posies and buttercups. For a summer evening, it was remarkably quiet, and the sound of children splashing on the banks of The Water was muffled in the quiet hum of dusk. In the distance somewhere, a cow was lowing gently in the pasture, and deep laughter drifted across the water, where a couple of hobbit men were smoking pipes and lounging about on the banks of the river.

A thrush broke out from the hedge nearby and flitted away to join another on the branches of a hawthorn bush nearby. Birdsong filled the air as she passed by, and then died away as she rounded the corner. She had travelled long and far for this opportunity, and for days had felt nothing but an eager sense of responsibility, though now she had reached her destination, that eagerness had hidden away behind a deadening feeling of worry that she had made a terrible mistake. After all, her father had forbidden her from attending for a specific reason (She personally felt that his reason was particularly stupid and so had elected to ignore it). Coming to a halt by the garden gate, she cleared her throat carefully and strengthened her steely resolve, a trait which all dwarves are accustomed to. In a short moment she would be making a decision which would change her life, for the better or the worse she did not know yet. She could not back out now; she had a feeling that they would need her help, whether they desired it or no.

Her hand raised, she made as if to knock on the door but was taken aback when it was wrenched open unexpectedly. The hobbit looked exasperated, and extremely flustered; he must have seen her coming up the garden path. Tyrin half-smiled in confusion, surely this was not the place? The hobbit seemed unaware of their arrival and yet, there was Gandalf's mark upon the door. This must be the house of the burglar, in all its glory.

"Tyrin Stonehelm, at your service." She bowed; ignoring the hobbit's stunned expression.

He bit back his exclamation of 'Heavens! Not another one!' and remembered his manners, like a proper gentle-hobbit. "At yours and your family's." He replied politely, before gesturing her inside and offering to take her cloak.

* * *

Bilbo Baggins, for that was his name, was hardly surprised when thirteen male dwarves appeared on his doorstep, just in time for tea. But when a fourteenth appeared _after_ the arrival of their venerable leader Thorin Oakenshield, and a woman, no less, he was stumped for words.

Grey cloak now tidied away, Tyrin followed Bilbo's gesture towards the dining room, and towards the hushed voices inside. Resting her broad-axe against the wooden doorframe and removing her sword belt, Tyrin dropped her leather satchel on the floor, ignoring Bilbo's clucking behind her.

"What do the dwarves of the Iron Hills say?" someone was asking, "Is Dáin with us?"

Tyrin entered the room. Twelve dwarves gaped back at her as she sank to her knees in front of Thorin and bowed her head in a sign of respect.

"My father may not support your claim to Erebor," she said, "But if by my life or my axe I can help you, then I will. If you'll have me."

With a single gesture, Thorin encouraged her to rise to her feet. For a moment, he stared at her with a sombre expression and Tyrin felt her stomach drop; would he reject her aid? Then, his countenance broke into a smile and he engulfed her in a bear hug.

"I had all but given up hope of seeing any of Dáin Ironfoot's kin, and yet here you are!" He cried aloud "Why did you come? Did your father-"

She shook her head. Dáin Ironfoot was as stubborn as they came, even in dwarf terms, and he would not change his mind. None of his men would march to Erebor, as long as he should live. "I came because you are my kinsmen," she addressed the room at large, directing a nod of greeting towards Gandalf, who was surveying her arrival with a look of pensive admiration. "And because you do not have a home, unlike my people. You and your people have been treated unfairly and I want to help change that." She added. "My father does not wish me to become a shield maiden; he thinks I am too young, but I disagree – I am almost three times the age he was when he proved himself in the Battle of Dimrill Dale. I want a chance to prove myself to him and my people and by helping you in your cause, I think I will find that chance." There was a rumble around the table, with nods and smiles from the other dwarves signalling their approval. A moment's pause allowed her to gather her thoughts, before she added with a wink and a smile "And I heard there was a promise of gold!"

The others burst into appreciative laughter, clapping and cheering their support. Bilbo offered her a chair at the huge oaken dinner table, then hurried off to fetch her some cutlery. Thorin clapped her on the shoulders, then announced to the room at large "That settles it then, Tyrin Stonehelm, daughter of Dáin Ironfoot, welcome to The Company!"

"Excuse me, Tyrin?" Bilbo asked tentatively, tapping her on the shoulder "Could I interest you in a bit of supper?" He thought it only proper to offer her some refreshment (a hobbit who does not feed his guests well is often considered a miser by others).

"Thank you Mr Baggins, that would be splendid, what were you thinking of?" She asked. Bilbo floundered. The other dwarves had waltzed into his pantry and had helped themselves to whatever they fancied, demolishing at least five seed cakes amongst themselves, as well as nearly all his bread and cheeses and cold meats. He had not expected her to ask for his opinion. For hobbits, good manners are a sound proof of integrity and Bilbo had already decided that he liked this tenacious young dwarf more than any of the others who had arrived at his home uninvited.

"There's a lovely bit of stilton in my pantry somewhere," he answered eagerly, "And a superb new loaf of rye bread somewhere." He bustled off into the larder excitedly, plating up anything that caught his eye. Hobbits, as you should well know, are very well-versed in the eating, preparation and growing of food, and this particular hobbit was no exception. He returned laden down with a fresh loaf of bread, baked just that morning if you must know, and other foods: pork pies, boiled eggs, cold cuts of meat, pickles, preserves and a variety of cheeses, including that excellent block of stilton. Tyrin thanked Bilbo endlessly, before diving in with relish. She glanced up a couple of times. Once was just in time to see one of the younger dwarves staring intently at her beardless face, desperate to ask a question, but held back by the stony glare of his older brother Dori, who had silently been willing him not to say anything since she had first arrived. She smiled at him and nodded her approval, encouraging him to ask. He let out a relieved breath and blurted out nervously.

"What's happened to your beard?"

There was a clatter of cutlery and a short splutter as Bofur inhaled the crumbs of his bread, trying desperately not to laugh at Ori's lack of tact. Fili and Kili were both grinning, but were clearly interested in knowing the answer.

"Burnt it off." She answered nonchalantly, ignoring Bofur, who was now wiping away the tears streaming from his face. Ori gaped, eyes wide and disbelieving. "There was a… mishap, shall we say, at our forge. Shame-" she added. "It had gotten quite long, too." That did it. Bofur howled with laughter and beat the table with his fist, Kili and Fili looked at him for a long moment, before joining in with identical roars of laughter. Ori was awestruck. "It got really itchy after that," she continued, trying to ignore Bofur, to no avail. "Ended up having to shave it all off." For a moment, she mused, before adding "At least it doesn't get in the way as much anymore…"

The second time she looked up was only to see some of the other dwarves eyeing up her heaped plate. In fact, one of their hands was steadily creeping towards a crusty bread roll which had rolled off her plate. Quick as a flash, her dagger flashed down into the wood, pinning the roll into the table. The dwarf, Bombur it was, yelped with shock and leapt backwards, amid deep laughter from many of the others. Bilbo nearly shrieked and leapt forward to yank the knife out of the wood.

"That's my father's table!" He chastised. Tyrin had the good grace to look ashamed and apologised meekly. Mollified, Bilbo removed himself to the chair next to the fender where he contented himself with eating a biscuit and drinking deeply from a mug of wine. For a moment, the dwarves continued munching away contentedly, before Thorin and Gandalf retired away to the next room to speak privately. As soon as the silence arrived, it quickly dissipated with the arrival of the next barrel of ale. Fili and Kili marched about, filling tankards with ease, while Bofur took up his flute and played a little ditty. The table lurched suddenly as Fili climbed up onto the wood and made his way to the other end of the room, balancing tankards of ale precariously.

"Who wants an ale? There you go!" He asked cheerfully, handing out tankards of ale willy-nilly before dancing a couple of steps to Bofur's fast paced music. Tyrin snatched the last one from his hand, and pounded it against that of the others. Someone began a short countdown, and then they were all drinking thirstily. Tyrin finished first, observing as the others began to burp in competition; she applauded as loudly as the others after Ori broke out an absolute corker.

A small fiddle was procured from her bag and she soon took up the same melody as Bofur, easily keeping pace as he grinned wickedly and upped the tempo. Suddenly Fili and Kili were dancing around on the table, swinging each other by the arms and tapping their boots in time to the stamping of the feet of the other dwarves. Tyrin and Bofur were still in the middle of their fast paced duel, and Fili and Kili were doing their best keep in time. All of a sudden, the music came to a halt with a bang, as both dwarves lost their balance and fell off of the table in a pile. Laughter and much clapping ensued, as Bofur and Tyrin bowed and Fili and Kili picked themselves up from the floor unabashed.

Tyrin fit in with them already, although that was not so much of a surprise. She had never met them before, though Dwarves are fiercely protective of family and they were nearly all distantly related (Bifur, Bofur and Bombur were the only ones who were not, being dwarves from the Mines of Moria and not of the line of Durin's Folk.) Though Thorin had recently visited their halls in the Iron Hills, he had not stayed long and she had only met him briefly. Many of the other dwarves had been mentioned in passing by her father, Balin and Dwalin's father Fundin had been slain in the Battle of Dimrill Dale, along with Thorin's younger brother Frerin and her own grandfather, Náin. Oin and Gloin had fought in the battle as well, he often recalled and Tyrin brought this up in conversation. Oin, who was hard of hearing and required an ear trumpet, only took part briefly, inputting anecdotes here and there, while Gloin chuckled at her eagerness to hear their story.

"I have a son, Gimli-" he said, showing her a picture proudly "He is much like you, eager to hear about battle, except he is much too young to understand the perils." He grew sombre for a moment, remembering the ghastly results of that fateful day. Then his eyes twinkled at the thought of his son's youthful enthusiasm and he continued speaking. "He is much too young to come along, or I think he would have jumped at the chance! He was very disappointed not to be invited." He chuckled again fondly, "When he was a youngling he was always asking me to tell him the story of Dáin and the Dimrill Dale. Such a feat, and for a dwarf so young…" He trailed off, eyes full of wonder as he revisited his memory of that day. Tyrin sat thoughtfully for a moment, remembering how remarkable her father's fighting had been and how it had meant that she would grow up to become heir to the Iron Hills. He had fought for his life, and he had won.

Thorin and Gandalf returned from their private talk, and Bilbo politely, although not very sincerely asked if they would stay for supper. Tyrin knew that they would, talks had not yet turned to the Quest or to Erebor, and the Burglar had not yet received the contract, though she partially understand his reasons for wanting them gone. She rather suspected that some of the party had been slightly too boisterous for him and he did seem completely clueless to any of their doings that day. He was probably overwhelmed with the appearance of fourteen strangers who had practically eaten him out of house and home.

In fact, he appeared on the verge of a breakdown already. Nori appeared to have liberated a rather pretty doily, and seemed about to use it to blow his nose or something equally as inappropriate.

"That's a doily, not a dishcloth!" Bilbo complained as he accosted him. "But it's full of holes!" Bofur remarked as he came to Nori's defence.

"It's supposed to; that's crochet!" argued Bilbo.

"And what a wonderful game it is, if you've got the balls for it!"

Tyrin snorted with laughter, thankful that Bilbo had not noticed her amusement, and distracted herself with the tug-of-war game which was emerging between Bofur and Nori over a string of sausages. Jumping off of the kitchen counter, she brought the two down to the floor with a heavy bump. It was a wonder that the flagstones did not crack with the force that Nori's head bounced off the heavy stone. As Bofur shook his head, dazed and more than a slightly bit confused, she winked as she liberated the sausages and rounded the corner, just picking up on Bilbo's latest complaint to Gandalf.

"I don't want to get used to them! Look at the state of my house! There's mud trodden into the carpet, they've pillaged the pantry and I'm not even going to tell you what they've done in the bathroom; they've all but destroyed the plumbing!"

Tyrin grimaced as she hid the string of sausages in a nearby vase. Kili had managed to do that earlier, she had heard through a hushed, whispered conversation between him and his brother. She hadn't bothered asking how, only nodded and winked, silently promising to keep quiet. She seemed to have earned their allegiance for that one.

"Excuse me Mr Baggins-" interrupted the youngest dwarf, a particularly well-mannered and well-spoken youngster by the name of Ori. "But what should I do with my plate?"

Fili was passing him, on his way back from the pantry or wine-cellar, it was hard to tell. Dwarves are as fond as food and drink as hobbits and in truth, are able to put away at least twice as much mead as a hobbit in one sitting. In fact, hobbits are likely to find the serving of a full pint a rare treat on account of their lessened tolerance, whereas a dwarf will view a day without a drink as a day not yet completed.

"Here you go Ori, give it to me!" He exclaimed helpfully, before throwing the plate swiftly to Kili, who passed it on into the next room effortlessly. Bilbo let out a strangled shout of indignation, before following each item of cutlery as it was flung from room to room.

"Do you mind? That is my mother's best china! It's been in the family for years and I'd really rather it wasn't smashed to smithereens!"

He was drowned out by the sound of thirteen dwarves stamping their feet in time and clashing knives and forks together. The next teacup came zipping her way and Tyrin was caught out, as she had just picked up her fiddle. Knocking it across the room with the edge of her fiddle, it was bounced into the kitchen by Balin's elbow, as he looked on in helpless amusement. Incidentally, this formed the basis for a new game which hobbit children would begin to play some years after the Red Book of Westmarch was written; it would later come to be known as cricket.

"Excuse me, could you please not do that? You'll blunt the knives!" complained Bilbo rather pitifully. Bofur jeered in reply.

"Oh d'you hear that lads? He's afraid we'll _blunt_ them!"

Without warning, Kili broke into song, followed swiftly by Fili.

_Blunt the knives and bend the forks,_

_Smash the bottles and burn the corks,_

_Chip the glasses and smash the plates,_

The others continued their steady beat of stamping and crashing feet, before joining in with the rest of the song. Tyrin smiled, she knew this song well, as did the others. Most dwarven folk learn this song at early ages and sing it often, though it is mostly heard at joyous celebrations. On this occasion, it can be noted that several of the dwarves viewed this meeting as a family reunion as well as a business proposal, and in particular were in high spirits about the potential of the recovery of their ancestral home.

_That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!_

_Cut the cloth and tread on the fat, _

_Leave the bones on the bedroom mat,_

_Pour the milk on the pantry flooooor,_

_Splash the wine on every door!_

Bofur and Tyrin picked up the melody again, this time not dancing ahead, and continued playing a solo as the others cleared up, occasionally knocking flying crockery with their elbows, shoulders and occasionally heads (A dwarf's head is exceedingly strong and can often be used as an invaluable weapon in a fight.)

_Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl,_

_Pound them up with a thumping pole,_

_And when you've finished, if any are whole,_

_Send them down the hall to roll! _

_That's what Bilbo Baggins hates,_

_So carefully, carefully with the plates!_

They finished to a round of applause, and a neatly stacked pile of clean crockery which had been efficiently washed up by Bifur. Meanwhile, Gandalf and Thorin being much too important to wash up, had settled down onto much comfier chairs, with their feet on the fender. They were blowing smoke rings. Thorin's smoke rings were enormous, and had travelled almost the entire length of the room before Gandalf's caught up with them. Gandalf's smoke rings were much smaller, but were faster and popped many of Thorin's smoke rings before he could even draw breath. It was fascinating to watch. Tyrin took her own polished pipe out and settled down on a different chair, next to the young dwarf Ori. He smiled shyly, but obviously pleased that she had chosen to sit next to him.

"Now, to business!" remarked Gandalf, stowing away his pipe and turning to Bilbo. "Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light." Bilbo complied, dashing away into the warren of hallways deeper inside Bag End and fetching back a lantern.

On the table, Gandalf spread out a large piece of parchment. Bilbo occasionally peered over his shoulder to examine the map, as Gandalf spoke to the company. Upon hearing the mention of the beast in the omens, he looked up worriedly.

"Beast?"

"Ah, well that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks, extremely fond of precious metals-" Bofur said helpfully. He was cut off by Ori.

"I'm not afraid! I'm up for it. I'll give him a taste of Dwarfish iron right up his jacksie!" The others roared their approval, before being interrupted by Gandalf.

"This was made by Thror, your grandfather, Thorin." He said. "It is a plan of the mountain." Tyrin gasped delightedly. The map might be entirely useless to them, but it was still good to know that there were some remnants of the Dwarvish realm at Erebor. Thorin must have been pleased that another artefact had been returned to him unexpectedly, though it did not show.

"How did you get hold of this Gandalf?" Thorin demanded "And why did it not come to me, the rightful heir?"

Hush fell over the group of dwarves; Gandalf drew himself up to his full height and answered coldly "It has taken me a good deal of time and effort to come by this map and I will thank you kindly to mind your manners Master Dwarf. I did not 'get hold of it', I was given it by your father and if I have taken my own time in getting it to you, you cannot blame me considering the trouble I had in finding you!" He handed Thorin a small silver key, adding "This came with it."

Fili and Kili examined the key closely, with a look of hard concentration. Finally, Fili remarked "If there's a key, then there must be a door!" Tyrin smiled lightly, Fili was the heir to the throne after his uncle, and for such a young dwarf to bear such responsibility already, she knew that he must be desperate to prove his worth. His remark was fleeting and desperately obvious, but only Tyrin seemed to appreciate his effort; he caught her eye and smiled brightly, clearly proud of his attempt, as Kili finally caught on.

"There's another way in!" He nudged his brother excitedly, as they grinned at each other proudly. The older dwarves ignored their exchange, but Tyrin nodded excitedly in agreement. Ori, who was much younger, looked at Fili and Kili in admiration, clearly in awe of their intellect.

"Give him the contract." Thorin commanded, watching carefully as Balin handed over a thick wad of parchment to Bilbo.

"Let's see…" Bilbo murmured aloud, turning away from the group as he examined the paper. There was a flutter of paper as the inner pages of the contract unfolded and fell to the floor. "Terms include cash on delivery, including up to and not exceeding 1/14th of total profits."

"Actually, that should say 1/15th," interrupted Balin, "I had not accounted for the arrival of Tyrin."

"…all traveling expenses are to be covered by the company, and funereal expenses to be covered by us or our representatives if occasion arises." Bilbo continued. "Party cannot be considered liable for any injuries, including lacerations, amputation, evisceration, _incineration_?" His voice took on an edge of nervous hysteria.

Oh aye, he'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye!" exclaimed Bofur, a wicked glint in his eye. "Think furnace, with wings!"

Bilbo looked up at him and wobbled uncertainly. Tyrin rose up from her chair, intending to steady his balance, but Bofur continued goading Bilbo. The others were barely containing their laughter, until Bilbo went crashing to the ground in a dead faint.

* * *

With Bilbo recovering in another room, the others were free to roam the hallways and explore Bag End. Many of the older dwarves chose to remain near the atrium and main hallway, intending to consider Bilbo's appropriateness for the task at hand. However, the younger dwarves rushed off immediately, making their way into the cellars to explore right to the very depths of Bag End.

For the rightful heirs to the throne, Fili and Kili were extremely reckless and not even ten minutes into their frightfully exciting adventure, had managed to knock over two vases between them and had broken the handle from a beautiful golden clock. Fili was to blame for that one, and shamefacedly hid it behind an old wooden dresser, much to Tyrin's chagrin and Kili's amusement. Ori was excitedly perusing Bilbo's old literature, and they soon left him poring over Bilbo's papers in the study. He promised to follow them later, but was collared by his brother, who forcibly dragged him back to the entrance hall to take notes and discuss Bilbo. Ori was highly disappointed at not being able to follow his older cousins about and have fun, but likewise, was extremely proud of his usefulness at being the elder's scribe.

Sooner or later, the others returned, having missed Ori, and then Thorin rose quietly. Quiet fell over the company. His presence commanded calm and all too readily was it given. He made his way into Bilbo's sitting room, with the others filing in after their rightful king was seated in a magnificent wooden chair with a velvety seat (a chair which had been lovingly crafted by Bilbo's uncle Lungo, and had been with his family for many years; it would later be sold to the Sackville-Bagginses by Frodo before he made for Bree and later, Rivendell.) Tyrin followed and tucked herself into a huge armchair in the corner of the room, where she was not in the way but still able to watch and listen.

_Far over the Misty Mountains cold,_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old_

_We must away ere break of day,_

_To seek our long-forgotten gold._

_The pines were roaring on the height,_

_The winds were moaning in the night,_

_The fire was red, it flaming spread._

_The trees like torches, blazed with light._

Thorin sang the first two lines in a sonorous bass voice, and Tyrin felt the hairs on her arms prickle. Then the others joined in. Across the room, she could see that their song was having the same effect on Bilbo, who was stood stock still like a rabbit caught by a hound, his eyes shining in the firelight. The dwarves sang of their home, and of the great red dragon, Smaug. The expression on Thorin's face was enough to tell Tyrin that she had made the right choice. Regaining Erebor for the good of all Dwarves would be a righteous cause and there was nothing Dáin Ironfoot could say or do to make her change her mind.


End file.
